


Call from Within (A Core Part of Your Identity)

by Ottsky



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Core Mechanics, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Replacement Player Headcanon, The Existential Horror of Blaseball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 04:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29993766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ottsky/pseuds/Ottsky
Summary: We know that players who're summoned to replace Incinerated Players aren't from the team's shadows, so. Where do they come from? A fic to play with the idea of being ripped, literally, from mundanity and what you understood, and to blaseball, without any warning?Playing a little bit with an idea that I read in something else (specifically Sword Interval), and exploring that idea of terrible things happening to other people, when "terrible" in this specific instance is, from the outside, something that would be very cool to be! Until you realise that there's a lot of things you gloss over when you're looking at blaseball from the outside...So here's a Drabble about being in the middle of living a mundane life, and not getting any choice in the matter of joining blaseball.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Call from Within (A Core Part of Your Identity)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Core Mechanics Fanbase](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Core+Mechanics+Fanbase).



“Many people go their entire life without hearing that call, you know that. I’m sure you’ve family that’s never even thought about the Splort, right? Everyone always assumes Blaseball is something that happens to  _ other _ people. A quiet sigh of relief under your breath when you apologise to a friend whose friend’s half-sibling is playing suddenly. But there is always a chance of it.”

  


Archivist Mags Blaskets slipped a book quietly onto a shelf, before letting the glass close around the shelf once again, sealing hermetically once more. They were, after all, in the oldest areas of the Core’s Library. The place where the original writings that the original creators came first. Creators in a literal sense, of course - Everyone created  _ something _ down here, they were no different. Mags quietly walked over, and gave a pat on the shoulder to Jasper Blather, who stood, standing stupidly in the middle of a room that felt far too quiet suddenly. It had never occurred to wir that things like Blaseball could happen  _ to  _ wir. Jasper had always been a fan, of course. Hard not to when one lived in a place where one of the oldest champions of the ILB hailed from. But there was always that assumption that wie had “crossed a line” of sorts, by hitting the age wie had. 30 years old. Most of the Blaseball players that were rookies were pretty young, right?

  


“Keep your head in the room, Blather.” Jasper winced slightly, huffing. Everyone had called wir Blather. A lot of Jaspers in the Core, surprisingly, and people got called by their last names all the time. Easier that way. But Jasper liked wir name. It was wirs, and that was something that wie fought with constantly.

  


“Jasper, please.” The response, quickly.

“Of course. Regardless, I’m just saying that you never know. No one ever does! Boom, like that. Every day for the rest of your life, you’re playing or you’re waiting to play. No more mundane life. And it always ends in some horrid way. Incineration, banishment to an alternate realm, et cetera. You never know, either. Just stepping onto that field is a threat to your continued existence.”

“You make it sound like no one would ever play blaseball if they had the choice. It seems really cool, in an abstract sense. Thousands of eyes on you, getting to play a splort, getting to travel all over the Immaterial Plane, visiting places you’d never get to? That all sounds like a great time, if you, y’know. Ignore the pressure, and the death…”

  


Mags pointed their finger up, and then at Jasper, as they led the pair out of the room and into the rest of the Archive, bustle picking up suddenly as their travel carried them elsewhere in the Archive. It was a good time for coffee and food, after all. And Mags had noticed Jasper putting wir fingers into wir mouth, which meant wie was going to start spitting soon, which meant wie was nervous and trying to come off the jitters.

  


“Yes, if you abstract out all the nasty parts, it’s easy to imagine enjoying being a blaseball player! Everyone wants to be the next Kirkland Crossing or Blurns McDobunt! No one remembers the people who they replaced, or the people who died on their rise to stardom. Not in the long form.” Mags jabbed their finger quietly at Jasper. “And most of the players who end up playing blaseball, if they aren’t willed into following that calling from the forces that be. Are there to replace people who died. Messily. In front of an audience, and friends, and competitors. Having to pick up a bat or a ball on the spot, and start playing, regardless of how good or bad they are at the game! Like, look at you Jasper. You’re an archivist, a musician, you’re good enough with machnaturgy, you’ve never picked up a bat in your life. Have you?” 

  


“No, I haven’t.” Jasper admitted, and then spat into a small bubbler, grumbling a little bit. Bad habit, sticking fingers in machine oil and then in your mouth, but wie couldn’t help it. “But I’d try! I mean, the Mechanics aren’t even in the Big Leagues anymore! If there’s a time for anyone to join their line up and get to learn and not have anyone judging you for your ability, it’s now, right?”

  


There was a flickering tug in Jasper’s chest, as wie looked down, and then at Mags. “Right, Mags?” Everything seemed to go a little slower. “Mags? Please?” A warble in that voice.

  


“...I’ll be watching you, Blather. Have fun out there.” Mags looked...bittersweet.

  


There was an overwhelming roar of a stadium full of grief and surprise and the din of a crowded blaseball game. Jasper was standing… Jasper was standing between Second and First Base. Shortstop. Glove on wir hand. There was a scorched mark in the sand next to them. Someone stood opposite wir, looking startled and terrified at the sudden absence of a friend. To their left, the same, another terrified face. 

  


_ Oh. _

  


An umpire blew a whistle, and called for continuation of play. 

  


_ Well, JasB? You brought it on yourself, didn’t you. _

  


There was a loud crack of a bat on ball, and then Ruffian Applesauce, jumping up, catching it, and falling back a full two feet from the power of the hit.

  


An Ump yells. “ **Out!** ”

  


_ Welcome to the ILB. _

**Author's Note:**

> RIV To Hands Scoresburg & Ruffian Applesauce. F in the chat for Lizzy Pasta & Doc Anice. 
> 
> Parker pls no ship of theseus speedrun on the Mechanics


End file.
